The sight of Manon’s portrait made Esther ask to see all the other portraits which Madame Manzoni had sent me from Venice.  There were naked figures amongst them, but Esther was too pure a spirit to put on the hateful affectations of the prude, to whom everything natural is an abomination.  O-Murphy pleased her very much, and her history, which I related, struck her as very curious.  The portrait of the fair nun, M——­ M——­, first in the habit of her order and afterwards naked, made her laugh, but I would not tell Esther her story, in spite of the lively desire she displayed to hear it.

At dinner-time a delicate repast was brought to us, and we spent two delightful hours in the pleasures of a conversation and the table.  I seemed to have passed from death to life, and Esther was delighted to have been my physician.  Before we rose from table I had declared my intention of sending Manon’s portrait to her husband on the day following, but her good nature found a way of dissuading me from doing so without much difficulty.

Some time after, while we were talking in front of the fire, she took a piece of paper, set up the pyramids, and inscribed the four keys O, S, A, D. She asked if I should send the portrait to the husband, or whether it would not be more generous to return it to the faithless Manon.  Whilst she was calculating she said over and over again, with a smile, “I have not made up the answer.”  I pretend to believe her, and we laughed like two augurs meeting each other alone.  At last the reply came that I ought to return the portrait, but to the giver, since to send it to the husband would be an act unworthy of a man of honour.

I praised the wisdom of the oracle, and kissed the Pythoness a score of times, promising that the cabala should be obeyed implicitly, adding that she had no need of being taught the science since she knew it as well as the inventor.

I spoke the truth, but Esther laughed, and, fearing lest I should really think so, took pains to assure me of the contrary.

It is thus that love takes his pleasure, thus his growth increases, and thus that he so soon becomes a giant in strength.

“Shall I be impertinent,” said Esther, “if I ask you where your portrait is?  Manon says in her letter that she is sending it back; but I don’t see it anywhere.”

“In my first paroxysm of rage, I threw it down; I don’t know in what direction.  What was thus despised by her cannot be of much value to me.”

“Let us look for it; I should like to see it.”

We soon found it on my table, in the midst of a of books; Esther said it was a speaking likeness.

“I would give it you if such a present were worthy of you.”

“Ah! you could not give me anything I would value more.”

“Will you deign to accept it, Esther, though it has been possessed by another?”

“It will be all the dearer to me.”

At last she had to leave me, after a day which might be called delightful if happiness consists of calm and mutual joys without the tumultuous raptures of passion.  She went away at ten, after I had promised to spend the whole of the next day with her.